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The mission had gone to hell from the start, but at least they got the necessary intel. Not, of course, that it matters a whole lot now, when they’re prisoners of the Zygerrians. It matters to the Togrutan colonists, Hunter reminds himself, fighting the very real need to fidget. He knows enough about Zygerrians to know what will happen to them. They’ll be trophies. Slaves. Playthings. Nothing good happens to clones who are taken by slavers.
If it was just him, he could have stayed calm. Calmer.
But with Crosshair here with him, Hunter’s every instinct is screaming at him to get them out. Now. They hadn’t quite moved fast enough, and Crosshair, instead of leaving like Hunter ordered him to, came back. He very badly wants to tell Crosshair how stupid that was. He should have left. Like Tech and Wrecker did. At least then, they’d have a chance of getting the intel back and coming back to stage a rescue. Now...
Hunter doesn’t know what will happen now.
He does not want to think about what will happen now.
They have nothing anymore, no advantages. After being captured, they were held under guard for a short time while the queen – presumably – was consulted, and then, they were taken to the antechamber they’re in now. The guards stripped them of their armor and weapons, of – of everything actually, including their body gloves, leaving them totally naked, and fastened a slave collar around their necks. If they try to escape, it’ll be activated, and they’ll be shocked. Hunter isn’t terribly keen on experiencing that senselessly. Or at all, actually, but that’s a moot point.
“You should have left,” Hunter hisses under his breath, finally giving into the urge as he scans the room as best he can. It looks as though they’re in a room high in the palace. The room is large. Spacious. A wide, elaborately engraved double-door leads to another room. A bedroom maybe? He suspects this might be the Queen’s personal chambers, if only because of the faint scent of floral perfume that he can keenly smell.
“You’re welcome,” Crosshair grouses snidely, giving him a glare out of the corner of his eye. They don’t actually move though; they’d been ordered to stand in place and wait, and Hunter doesn’t want to test how likely the two Zygerrian guards at the door are to shock them.
What he can’t see with his eyes, he’s trying to sense, and all his instincts are telling him is that he’s in trouble. Well, he already knew that. Forcing them to wait, he suspects, is half of the point. It’ll make them even more anxious after having been stripped of everything else. The nudity might bother him more if he hadn’t spent so long in a lab being poked and prodded by Kaminoans. Still, it’s not comfortable, by any means, but he’s a soldier, and he’ll get through it. He’ll find a way to get them both out, and this will be nothing more than just another bad memory of the past.
“They’re going to use us against each other,” he reminds, annoyed. At the door, one of the guards shifts, but they make no move to stop them from speaking.
“Really. How incredibly perceptive of you.” Crosshair’s voice is dripping with sarcasm, and Hunter clenches his jaw. He hates it when his youngest brother gets difficult like this. It makes him want to smack some sense into him, and unfortunately, now is really not the time or place for a fight.
... They don’t call them fights, of course. They call them disagreements. Or spars. But there’s something so – so refreshing about letting loose and going head-to-head with someone who will take it and fight back. Wrecker is too soft, and he always goes along with what Hunter says. He’s got his own temper, of course, but he’s – it’s just different with him. And Tech is Tech. He so usually stays calm, using logic over emotion. But Crosshair is...
It’s not something Hunter even knows how to put into words. (Or maybe it’s just something he doesn’t want to put into words, because it’s... forbidden.)
“And what, precisely, has gotten into you?” Hunter asks, more irritably than he normally would, but well, it’s not as if they’re in a good situation, and he’s tense and scared, and fighting with Crosshair is a good way of getting rid of those feelings so he can go back to being strategic and figuring out what their best course of action should be now.
“Your stupidity,” Crosshair drawls quietly enough to keep their conversation private – hopefully. Hunter gets the feeling, from his tone, that he’d be poking Hunter right now if he thought he could get away with it, or if they were in different surroundings.
“... Are you angry at me?” he demands incredulously. How is any of this his fault?! He didn’t anticipate the guards or the alarm that Wrecker accidentally tripped and Tech ought to have seen. He didn’t expect they’d be captured. He certainly didn’t ask Crosshair to get captured with him – far from it, in fact.
“Of course not. Why would I be?” The tone is too casual to be real, the faintest purr of mockery to it that rubs Hunter wrong in just the right way.
“If you’d left,” he answers through gritted teeth, “You could be planning an extraction. Tech and Wrecker won’t get to us on their own.” He knows them, and they’re very good at what they do, of course, albeit primarily because he’s good at directing them, and he knows that their chances of mounting a successful rescue on their own are approximately null. It doesn’t help that they’re only two people, so they can’t storm the palace alone. If Crosshair was there, he could help them. Maybe it still wouldn’t be enough, but it would have improved their odds tremendously.
“And let you have all the fun alone?” The mockery is still there, and it grates on him. “Now why would I want to do something like that?”
Hunter itches to hit him. “Crosshair,” he hisses, half growling it.
“We don’t leave our own behind, Hunter,” Crosshair throws back. Hunter doesn’t need to see him to imagine the icy glare on his face. He’s angry, alright, but he’s being a little ridiculous.
“It would have been a strategic retreat,” Hunter corrects.
“A ‘strategic retreat’,” he parrots, pitching his voice to mimic Hunter’s. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“It’s called following orders.” That comes out louder than Hunter meant it to, but he’s angry, too. Crosshair put himself in danger for no reason.
“And since when,” Crosshair replies, carefully and pointedly enunciating each word, “Do we ever follow orders?”
“You follow mine,” he reminds.
“Pfft. Most of time.” The correction is blasé, and that, more than anything, irritates Hunter. It feels like Crosshair isn’t taking this seriously.
“These people are slavers. You know what that means.”
Crosshair tilts his head, glancing at Hunter, and Hunter looks back. The air between them is heated, charged, and Hunter doesn’t know if he wants to jump Crosshair to beat some sense back into him or if...
Well, some thoughts are best left unfinished.
“We’ve survived worse.” Crosshair half shrugs, totally nonchalant and stupidly stubborn. “At least we’ll be together.” Beating sense into him is sounding better and better by the moment, but Hunter merely huffs out an annoyed breath and looks away, focusing on staring at the set up of the furniture in the room. It’s boring, and it only increases his anxiety about what the Zygerrians will do with them, but anything is better than dealing with Crosshair when he’s in a mood, especially right now.
(He has no idea how much he’ll come to regret that thought.)
He hears the footsteps before they arrive, the shifts in the magnetic frequencies of the planet, small, but noticeable enough for him to sense the approaching individuals. Guards are approaching, at least four of them, and with them is the queen herself. Her shoes clack against the marble floor, and Hunter tenses instinctively, staying in parade rest as he waits for the inevitable. The pit of anxiety in his gut grows, second by second, as she approaches.
He can feel Crosshair side-eyeing him, and his brother must be able to tell from his posture what’s coming, because he, too, straightens, face closing into a blank, icy mask, eyes sharp and unreadable as he waits next to Hunter.
The door opens, and the queen sweeps inside. Hunter can see her out of his peripheral vision, but they’re positioned facing mostly away from the ornate doors leading into the chamber, so he can’t get a good look at her without turning his head – something he isn’t going to do. She’s accompanied by guards, who take up positions right inside, closing the doors behind them. The sound echoes through the room, and Hunter fights the urge to shiver, a feeling of doom settling over him.
The queen, Miraj Scintel, approaches them with the calm confidence of one who knows they’re in charge, accompanied by the strong scent of a floral perfume that makes Hunter’s skin crawl. Chemicals, in general, are hard on him because of his enhanced sense of smell, and even if he’s used to them, that doesn’t mean it’s ever pleasant to be in close proximity to chemicals of any kind; that’s why they so infrequently clean their barracks, since Hunter can’t stand the smell of the chemicals that they’d need to use.
“What do we have here…” Scintel purrs. Almost literally purrs. Zygerrians are a humanoid feline species, and they have some very catlike qualities from what Hunter has heard. She paces around them, circling them, studying them, assessing them. Her gold eyes are aloof and pleased, even if she must know that they stole intel from her about the location of the “processing facilities” where they take newly captured slaves. He’d thought she’d be angry. Anger he could handle with defiance. This… is something else entirely.
“Clones,” she says appreciatively, stopping only feet away from them, hands on her hips. “Very unusual ones, too. What is it that makes you two so… different?” She says it like it’s a good thing, very unlike the way the regs always look down on them for sticking out. They’ve never fit in among the regs, and Hunter used to struggle with it, but now, it’s a thing of pride. He doesn’t need them when he has his brothers.
But suddenly, he isn’t so sure that standing out is a good thing, and he’s acutely conscious of his nudity, of the prominent half-skull tattooed on his face. He’s distinct. It’s always been a good thing… until now, with Scintel looking at them.
Neither of them answers, and Hunter lifts his chin defiantly. He isn’t going to be cooperative, even if he can keenly feel the heavy weight of the collar around his neck. At the push of a button, it’ll activate, shocking them, but he won’t let fear cow him into obedience.
Her flowing, aqua gown shimmers in the daylight coming in through the window, the golden accents sparkling in the light. Probably, Hunter thinks a little bitterly, it is all real gold, gotten from an empire of corruption, slavery, and exploitation. This is why they’re soldiers: to protect people from monsters like her. At her waist, the handle of an electro-whip is clipped. Probably, he and Crosshair together could overwhelm her easily, but there are still six guards at the door. It would be a foolish risk, one that would only get them hurt and possibly separated. They need to stay together. If they do, they’ll have a better chance at surviving and escaping.
“Hm,” she chuckles, amused, probably by their stony silence, greed and something else in her eyes as she steps closer to them, far too close, “Well, it matters not. You are no longer soldiers here. Once, you were slaves of the Republic. But you are mine now.”
Hunter’s first thought is that he belongs to no one, except his brothers, but he holds his tongue. He isn’t going to anger her unduly – or preferably, at all.
“You clones are of fine stock. Perhaps I’ll keep you myself. I have many… uses for you.” The implication is clear in her purred, satisfied words, and it makes his skin crawl.
He stiffens, despite his earlier resolution not to react, when she reaches out, lightly trailing a long, sharp nail up his chest and over his shoulder, running her fingers down his back as she circles him. The low, warning growl slips out without him even meaning to make it, and she pauses. Out of the corner of his eye, Hunter can see Crosshair’s jaw tightening, the wild fury in his eyes, poised and ready to strike. Crosshair… is not the most rational at times, and Hunter would much rather keep her attention on him. He doesn’t want Crosshair to get punished for his sharp tongue (even if it would be amusing to watch him verbally eviscerate her).
Scintel circles them slowly again, tracing a hand along Crosshair’s arm as she stops at his side. Crosshair doesn’t react at all, but Hunter can’t stop the rage from bubbling up within him, an echo of mineminemine resounding in his mind.
“Don’t touch him.” The words are out before he even thinks them through, but he can’t find it in himself to regret them, or whatever will come his way, regardless of what he was just thinking about Crosshair being impulsive. (Okay, fine, he can be, too.)
The queen just seems amused and a little curious, watching, as Crosshair turns an icy glare onto him. “I’m fine,” he grits out. “I can take care of myself.”
“So can I!” It’s a tad defensive, a reminder of their earlier argument, which Hunter is still annoyed about.
“Stop drawing attention to yourself,” Crosshair hisses under his breath, hopefully quiet enough that Scintel won’t hear every word. Hopefully. Her ears are large and cat-like, and she may well have better hearing than humans. “We need to stay together.”
She laughs, obviously enthralled. … Probably, that is a bad sign, and Hunter firmly clamps his mouth shut. They both need to shut up and stop reacting. They are better than this.
“You delight me,” she says, moving back to stand in front of them. “You are different from the other clones I’ve seen.”
There’s that word again. Different. Hunter used to like being different than the other clones. Now, with a slaver queen in front of him and his youngest brother beside him, he’s no longer so certain. Maybe if they weren’t so different, they could already be on their way to a successful escape. (Maybe, but probably not. Probably, it’s just wishful thinking.)
Scintel tilts her head, and idly, Hunter wonders if the crown on her head, decorated with three points tipped with claws, is heavy. He wonders if he could jump her, hold her hostage, before the guards can react. If it was just him, he might try it, but he could get Crosshair hurt, and that’s not something he’s willing to risk.
“I think you could please me very well,” she states, eyes sweeping up and down their bodies with naked interest and lust.
Hunter tightens his jaw, willing himself not to react or say anything. He should have thought to will Crosshair into silence instead.
“I would rather live in a nest of mynocks.” The boredom in Crosshair’s voice is feigned, but there’s a deliberate antagonism in his words.
The queen only chuckles, more amused than offended. “You will yet learn your places,” she promises, “And you will come to appreciate the things I do for you. I could sell you off at the upcoming auction. You’d fetch a high price, especially with your skillsets, and… beauty.” She traces a fingertip on Hunter’s cheekbone and jaw, and he bites at her finger without thinking.
Crosshair looks like he’s two seconds from trying to rip her head off with his bare hands. Even if he’s not reacting outwardly, Hunter knows him well enough to read the fury that’s simmering just under the surface.
She jerks back from Hunter just in time, expression settling into an icy glare. “But clearly,” she continues, “You will require further… processing before you will be ready. A slave always knows better than to raise a hand against their master.” She spins on her heel, striding to the decorative, throne-like chair strategically placed at the front of the room, pushing a few buttons on the arm.
Electricity crackles from the collar around his neck, and he nearly gasps at the pain that flares, dropping down to his knees, as he reaches instinctively to it. But it’s too strong, and he can’t get it off. Wrecker could, supplies his mind, but Wrecker isn’t here, so it doesn’t matter. He pulls his eyes open, shaking off the tremors to see Crosshair hovering next to him, expression a mixture of worry and anger.
Crosshair looks up when Scintel moves towards them, snarling at her. “You will pay for that.”
She merely smiles, satisfaction in her eyes. “We’ll see,” she says airily. “In the end, you will come to learn your places. But for now, you are too… feral for me to enjoy.” A deliberate pause that only increases the tension in the room, and Hunter forces himself back to his feet, refusing to show any weaknesses, much less think about what she wants from them.
It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. They’ll get out of here before – before that happens. Definitely. Absolutely. Nothing to worry about.
… Except he’s nearly going out of his mind with fear, trying desperately not to think about it. He doesn’t – he can’t think about it, can’t let himself dwell on what she wants from them. Fighting he can do. He’s a soldier. He was trained for it. He can kill and fight. He can… They’re strong, too. They have a high resistance to stress, as do all clones. But – but that? He doesn’t – he can’t – he doesn’t want to – to –
Crosshair stands next to him, shoulders squared, ready for a fight, but that’s what she wants from them, isn’t it? She wants them to fight, craves to make them break at her feet until they’re quiet and submissive. That’s what she enjoys. It’s what she gets a kick out of.
But Hunter will not let Scintel break him or his brother.
They’ll find a way out. It’s what they do. Even if it takes time, he will get them out.
The queen circles them again, a cruel smirk on her lips as she finally pauses in front of them. “You are… close, yes? Part of the same… squad?”
It feels like a trick question, and Hunter can’t deny the way his heart is beating too fast, or the dryness of his mouth. “Yes,” he answers grudgingly, because it must be obvious to her already, from the way they’re defending each other, the way Crosshair knelt to check on him when he fell after being electrocuted.
Her smile only grows. “Then this should be easy.” Another pause, her heated gaze flicking from him to Crosshair and back again. “You,” she says to Crosshair with all the loftiness and power only a queen can wield, something venomous and victorious in her cruel, golden eyes, “I wish for you to claim your… brother in front of me.”
She says the word ‘brother’ like an insult, and Hunter can feel his face getting warm at the meaning of the words, or more like at the images his mind unhelpfully supplies.
“Or what?” Crosshair drawls, unimpressed.
Scintel’s gaze sharpens. “Or you will never see him again.”
It feels final.
If so much as a pin dropped in the room, it would have shattered the heavy silence just as abruptly as one of Wrecker’s famous explosions.
Hunter’s heart is hammering in his chest, and he feels like he can’t breathe quite right, dread washing over him in an icy wave. She wants him and Crosshair to – to –
No.
That – he – they can’t. It’s wrong. Hunter’s is Crosshair’s older brother, and his sergeant, and it’s against the regulations, and it – they grew up together. They can’t –
But his eyes slide towards Crosshair, and he wants.
Maybe not now or here – definitely not now or here – but there is nothing new about the way they gravitate to each other. Even before their bodies started changing a year ago, he’d always been drawn to Crosshair. They’ve always been close. He’s close with all his brothers, of course, but there’s something different about Crosshair that he doesn’t quite know how to put into words. They – when things started… changing, their bickering became more heated, their wrestling and sparring matches more charged.
He figured out what it was, somewhat, from the way his body reacted to Crosshair’s proximity, to the warmth of his body when they were pressed close. They’ve never talked about it, but Hunter has felt the weighted looks Crosshair gives him, the lingering glances or touches. He – he knows what Crosshair feels, and he knows what he feels, but they can’t. It’s wrong. It –
Crosshair had tried to press closer once after getting Hunter down on the mats, grinding down against him purposefully. It had been almost physically painful to catch his hips, stopping him with a quiet we can’t. Crosshair had… not taken it well, and he’d stormed off, ignoring him for a week after that. And when they’d yelled at each other next – the ignoring was getting childish and dangerous for all of them – they’d fallen back into their usual pattern of using hand-to-hand fighting to sort it out.
And while Crosshair has never been quite so upfront since, Hunter has never said anything about the way they press their bodies closer together when they end up rolling across the mats, struggling to get the upper hand. Usually, the matches end before either of them has come out on top, when desire and need are singing through their blood and clouding their minds, and they split apart, going to take care of themselves in private.
It never feels like enough, though.
Hunter wants more, and he knows Crosshair does, too, but it – they can’t. They can’t because it’s a bad idea for a million reasons. He shouldn’t even let them do as much as they are, since it only encourages the feelings they shouldn’t be entertaining in the first place. He knows better, but he’s never stopped it, never even tried. He thinks it would break him to lose Crosshair. For as long as he can remember, he’s always craved a closeness with others, but they were trained out of any displays of affection or intimacy from the time they were young.
Sometimes, he wonders if that’s what birthed this attraction between them.
Tech is naturally more reserved about physical displays of affection, and Wrecker is just Wrecker about them – he’s so simple, in some ways; he’ll hug them if he feels like, not caring about the things they were taught. But Hunter and Crosshair… are different. They used to be very physically affectionate when they were younger, seeking out physical contact, snuggling and the like, and they were taught that it was wrong, that they shouldn’t do it since it’s a weakness.
They stopped doing it, but that need for closeness has never gone away, and Hunter’s never actually asked, but he thinks Crosshair is the same. Maybe he sees this… attraction between them, the force that pulls them irrevocably together into each other’s orbits and lights their blood on fire, as a way of finding intimacy and closeness without it… being a weakness like they were taught.
(Maybe they’re both really good at lying to themselves.)
Crosshair’s eyes slide towards Hunter, and he stares at him for a moment, assessing. “Any preferences?”
Scintel lets that question linger in the air as she nonchalantly walks to the chair that must be her throne in the room, settling onto it and lounging there, watching them. “No,” she says at last, waving a hand casually, “Handle it as you will.” She gestures to the guards. “Get lube. I don’t want them damaged. And leave us.”
Lube. Of course. Because they need something to use to make this… doable.
Despite himself, there’s a rising anticipation building inside him, a desperate hunger, not dissimilar to what he feels in the moments when he and Crosshair circle one another before one of them pounces.
He knows how it works. Sort of. He did his research on the holonet, because he was curious, even as he told himself firmly that nothing would ever come of it. But he still did his research, and he has no doubt that Crosshair did, too. He knows how it works. He’s thought about it before, no matter the guilt he’s felt afterward for harboring such thoughts.
They can’t.
(They don’t have a choice.)
But what can he even do?
(He’ll sacrifice anything to keep Crosshair safe, and he can’t lose him. Crosshair is a part of him, not dissimilar to the way Tech and Wrecker are, and losing him would be losing a piece of himself.)
It’s – it’s just sex. It could be worse.
(It’s Crosshair. It could never be just sex with him.)
He should… probably give protest to this.
(But it’s Crosshair. There’s no going back from this, no way to pretend that it didn’t happen, and no way to set it aside as a one-time thing – assuming she’ll even let them stop after one time.)
The silence in the room feels electric, and minutes tick by before they’re given a tube of lube – and Hunter definitely does not flush as his mind drifts to how it’ll be used – and left alone. With Scintel.
“You may proceed,” she says almost magnanimously before pulling her skirts up and sliding a hand underneath.
It’s that which makes the whole thing real, and Hunter feels sick at the knowledge that they’ll be doing this just to put on a show for her. A show. He can’t stop it, but he doesn’t have to want it either, not like this. Not like this. It makes him feel violated that she’ll be watching them, and he doesn’t – he can’t –
Crosshair turns to him, and reluctantly, Hunter tears his eyes off the queen, trying to dispel the image from his mind, the knowledge that she’ll be pleasuring herself by watching them, by making them do this. But when his gaze meets his brother’s, a spark reignites inside of him, drawing him closer, always closer. He wants – he wants –
Crosshair’s eyes are gentle, understanding, affectionate. “We have to put on a show for her,” he says, very quietly, and he seems as troubled by that as Hunter feels. Maybe. “If she’s happy, we’ll stay together. Try not to make this any harder than it needs to be.”
Hunter feels like he should be offended by that comment, but then, Crosshair reaches out, trailing a hand down his arm, expression hungry. He doesn’t even have the grace to look apologetic, and Hunter might mind that more if he didn’t completely understand the feeling. They shouldn’t be doing this, but Scintel isn’t giving them a choice, and he – he can’t really blame Crosshair for letting himself take advantage of the situation.
He wants this, too.
Crosshair’s touch is firm, sending pinpricks of pleasure skittering through Hunter’s body, as he steps closer to him, tracing his fingers across skin, steadily moving downward. “You can touch me, too, you know,” he whispers, and Hunter inhales a shaky breath, breathing in the scent of Crosshair’s arousal.
He wants to touch him. He wants to touch him so badly that he aches with it, but he – it wouldn’t be right, and he doesn’t – not here. He doesn’t want it to be just a show for her. He doesn’t want to do this with prying eyes, watching their every move. This is supposed to be… more intimate. This isn’t supposed to be happening in the middle of somewhere they aren’t safe. Hunter only clenches his hands, keeping them by his sides, letting Crosshair touch his body. He won’t – he can’t stop him, even if he wants to.
(If Crosshair stops, he thinks he’ll cry very real tears over it.)
Crosshair’s hand drops to his hip, pausing, eyes watching Hunter’s face intently, before slowly trailing lower. He’s already nearly trembling from just this much touch, keeping himself quiet, because he – despite what Crosshair said, Hunter is very much not inclined to put on a show in front of an audience like that, but when Crosshair’s fingers finally stroke over his growing erection – he wills Crosshair not to comment, or he will jump him right here and now, Scintel be damned – Hunter can’t hold back the quiet gasp-whimper as the sensations wash over him, stealing his ability to think.
More.
Despite his need and desire, though, he still sees the way one corner of Crosshair’s mouth curls into a satisfied smirk as he strokes him a little faster teasing out a strangled moan. He’s too desperate for more to be annoyed right now.
Crosshair lets go of him, and he misses the touch instantly, his hips twitching forward, seeking out contact or friction or something. They’ve gone way too far to turn back now, and Hunter probably couldn’t stop himself even if Scintel decided to have them stop. It – he’s gotten a taste of Crosshair, and he’s starving for more. Once won’t be enough, and he knows that with surety, but he doesn’t give a kriff right now.
Hunter whines, a little desperate, nearly reaching for Crosshair, only stopping himself because he doesn’t – he’s afraid to give in to what he wants with her watching, afraid of what he’ll give away if he does. Crosshair breathes out a laugh, at the sound, eyes flicking around the room for a moment. “Turn around,” he instructs, “And get on your hands and knees.”
He doesn’t even hesitate before obeying, grateful that the angle at which he’s at somewhat keeps Scintel from getting a clear view of him. Crosshair kneels behind him, tracing a hand up his back, and Hunter shivers under the touch, panting, leaning into it. His body is vibrating, desperate and eager for any sort of sensation right now, the lightest caress setting his nerves on fire.
The hand stops on his shoulder blade, and Crosshair leans over him, draping himself across Hunter’s back and nuzzling his neck, above the collar. Hunter tilts his head automatically, letting Crosshair press a light kiss to the sensitive skin there, sending a shudder through him.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Hunter pants out, aching for more. Enough waiting. He just wants them to do things, even if this is something entirely new to him, to both of them, he imagines.
Crosshair chuckles next to his ear, shifting his hips to grind his erection against Hunter’s ass, eliciting another strangled moan that he desperately tries to swallow. “I knew what I was doing when you first told me we can’t,” he replies, the faintest tinge of mocking – and maybe a little bitterness – in his voice. Yeah, that – Hunter can deal with it later, if Crosshair’s still upset about it, but right now…
He deliberately presses back against Crosshair, enjoying the tingles of pleasure that shoot through him as Crosshair’s erection rubs against him and the way his brother’s breathing stutters at the sensation.
And then, Crosshair hooks his fingers around the edge of the collar, tugging on it lightly, before sliding his hand into Hunter’s hair, using the grip to pull Hunter’s head to the side to expose his neck a little more, sucking and nipping on the skin there. “You’re mine,” he growls in a whisper, breath hot against Hunter’s ear, “And I won’t let you forget it or deny it.”
Hunter whimpers, swallowing, trying to ignore the way those words make him feel. There’s no going back now, though. He – they have gone way too far to stop, and he wonders, distantly, how he could ever have said no to this.
Crosshair straightens, sliding a hand under Hunter to stroke him again for a moment before he lets go. Hunter shifts, widening his legs to give Crosshair better access and pushing his hips toward him in invitation. It takes only a few seconds for him to reach for the lube, but it still feels like a few seconds too long, before a fingertip is gently prodding at Hunter’s entrance. It circles, just feeling for a moment, and Hunter shivers as it presses in. It feels weird. Not bad weird. Just weird and different, but in a good way.
He fights through the instinctive urge to resist the intrusion, taking a deep breath and trying to relax a little. It’s hard, especially with how new and unfamiliar the situation is, and since he doesn’t feel safe here. This position makes him feel vulnerable, but when Crosshair pushes his finger in further, twisting it, sending pleasure jolting down Hunter’s spine, that thought falls away entirely.
After thrusting the finger in and out a few times, turning it inside him to stretch him, Crosshair slowly slides in a second. It takes a moment for Hunter to adjust to it, the faint burn of being stretched giving way to pleasure when Crosshair’s fingers begin to move. He shifts, balancing himself on one hand, reaching down to touch himself with the other. He needs it, aches to be touched, and he –
“Don’t,” says Crosshair, stopping him, his free hand tightening almost possessively on Hunter’s hip.
Hunter growls quietly, tempted to do it anyway – he’s desperate for contact, for friction, and he lets out a shaky breath, returning his hand to the floor, silently promising that when they’re out of here, when they do this of their own, he’s not going to follow Crosshair’s orders like he is now. He won’t submit to his brother when they’re alone, just the two of them. It’ll be a fight, and it’ll be glorious.
“Then hurry up,” Hunter snarls at him.
“It’s about the show, remember?” Crosshair purrs, stroking a hand over Hunter’s hip, his fingers not thrusting any faster, even when Hunter shoves back, pushing them in deeper.
There is a very real chance that Hunter will cause him serious bodily harm if he doesn’t start doing things in the very near future, and he lowers his head, clenching his jaw as he vibrates with need and anticipation and desire. His hair falls into his face – they took his bandana along with everything else – but he doesn’t really care, focused solely on the sensations that are building from Crosshair’s touch.
More.
Crosshair adds another finger, continuing to open him up, and just when Hunter is about to growl at him to stop playing around and get on with it, Crosshair curls his fingers, hitting a spot that rips a startled yelp-moan from Hunter at the intensity of the pleasure that crashes into him, nearly whiting out his vision. He waits long enough for Hunter to recover himself and try to still the trembling in his arms before doing it again. Hunter jerks, hips twitching as he seeks more, his erection aching for even the slightest pressure.
The world narrows down to just the two of them, to Crosshair’s fingers inside of him, and Hunter could really care less who is watching them now. Don’t stop, don’t –
And then, Crosshair pulls his fingers out. Hunter whines, shoving back towards him; it only takes a moment, though, Crosshair reaching for the lube again, before the tip of his erection is pressing against Hunter’s entrance. His breathing hitches as Crosshair slowly presses in. The stretch burns, on the edge of pleasure and pain, and a shiver runs down his spine as he tries to relax and not fight the intrusion.
It takes a little bit, with Crosshair pressing in slowly, far too slowly in Hunter’s opinion, before he’s fully inside him. His hands are tight on Hunter’s hip, possessive and claiming, and his words from earlier come back to Hunter.
“You’re mine, and I won’t let you forget it or deny it.”
Hunter shifts, trying to make Crosshair start moving, deliberately clenching down on him. Crosshair makes a quiet noise, a half-moan, before he pulls out and thrusts back in. It’s slow at first, almost experimental, as they find their rhythm, and Hunter bites his lip to hold back the noises that try to escape. It feels good, so good, and why did he ever say no to this –
Crosshair picks up speed, thrusting harder and faster, gripping Hunter’s hips tight enough to bruise, probably, and Hunter pushes back just as determinedly, the world around him a blur of pleasure and need. He’s panting and moaning, even though he tries to stop himself, heart hammering, and he needs more. Crosshair gasps out a breath when Hunter clenches down on him, one of his hands reaching down to roughly stroke Hunter’s erection in time with his thrusts, and it’s perfect, and just a little more…
When Crosshair adjusts his angle slightly, he hits the spot that sent an intense pleasure through Hunter before, but this time, it’s so much stronger, enough to nearly white out his vision as he’s thrown over the edge into his climax, a cry ripped from his throat. He clenches down on Crosshair, eliciting a broken moan from him as he slams into Hunter one final time, finally reaching his own release.
For a few minutes – or it could be longer, Hunter has no idea – they just breathe and wait for the world to reorient itself around them again as they return to reality.
It is, unfortunately, to the same place where they were before, kneeling on the floor of the Zygerrian queen’s chambers, flushed and sweaty and trembling from their exertions. Crosshair slowly slides out of him, and Hunter feels a wet stickiness sliding down his thighs as he sits back onto his knees, letting out a shuddering breath. His muscles protest the movement, sore in ways they never have been before, but it’s pleasant. It felt so good and right, and he – it was wrong, but it didn’t feel wrong, and he knows there’s no going back now. Even if the guilt eats away at him, he’ll never be strong enough to resist the temptation that is Crosshair ever again.
Despite everything, despite where they are, Hunter still aches to reach out and touch Crosshair to trace fingers across his body, to explore him and taste him. He aches with that desire so strongly that it’s nearly physically painful. But he takes it and forces it back, even though his fingers twitch with the need to touch.
Still, he shifts slightly, relishing in the aching soreness of his ass as he glances sideways at his brother. Crosshair is watching him, sated and pleased, and though most of his expression is blank, probably because of their audience, Hunter can still read it in his gold-brown eyes. They stare at each other for a moment before they turn their heads in sync towards where Scintel is lounging.
Her face is flushed in a way that very much indicates she reached her own pleasure by watching them, and Hunter can’t quite help the curl of shame inside of him, mingled with guilt. Her eyes are thoughtful, predatory, and if Hunter was able to trust his limbs, he’d stand, just so he wouldn’t have to feel so vulnerable here on his knees.
“That was satisfactory,” she purrs, lazily rearranging her skirt as she stands and stretches. “I should like to see what else you can do, too, but… perhaps later.”
His heart skips a beat, and he wants to tell himself that it’s only dread, but that wouldn’t be truthful as he feels the stir of interest from deep inside of him. So long as they only have to do things to each other, Hunter thinks he’ll be able to bear it, even if he hates it. This is Crosshair, and it would be a lie to say that he doesn’t always desire him.
They don’t speak or move, watchful and waiting, as she looks at something on the control panel embedded onto the arm of her chair. “There is something I need to attend to,” she tells them. “You may wander in my quarters, but I expect you to be here when I return, is that understood?”
She’s giving them a little bit of freedom to move around, and it’s more than Hunter could have expected, given how she’d had them stand and wait for so long earlier. But maybe she’s just in a good mood because of… the show.
“Understood,” he answers, voice clipped and guarded.
Scintel watches him, amused. “You may address me as ‘Your Majesty’,” she says finally, “Or as ‘my Queen’, whichever you prefer.”
Hunter clenches his jaw, but he nods his head, understanding. They have to play the game if they want to survive, and somehow, he has the feeling that it’s only just begun.
She gives them both another lingering, hungry look before strolling from the room. He doesn’t move until the door slides closed behind her leaving them alone. Though he has no doubt that there are cameras watching them at all times, at least… they have a modicum of privacy. But he’s alone with Crosshair now, and as he turns towards his brother, he realizes that he has no idea what to say.
Crosshair’s eyes are guarded, a little wary, but Hunter can understand that. He’d stopped Crosshair before, too, and he hadn’t thought his brother was still upset about it, but maybe he judged him wrong. Maybe… Well, maybe a lot of things, actually, and not just about that.
(What he wants most is to curl closer and touch him.)
“What are you thinking about so hard?” Crosshair drawls, breaking the stillness. “You know we didn’t have a choice, if you’re getting twisted up in knots about that.”
“Not that,” Hunter replies, unable to stop his gaze from hungrily sweeping over Crosshair’s body. He wants to touch him.
“Mm. Then what?”
“I don’t know what else she’ll want from us,” he admits, “And I have no idea how we’ll get out of here.” It’s a show of weakness, but after what they were just doing…
He aches for closeness with Crosshair, for a deeper connection to him than the one he’s already had. They’ve spent so long dancing around how they feel and what they want, and he’s tired of that. He can’t go back to that anymore, but he doesn’t quite know how to move forward either. Talking about emotions isn’t exactly his forte.
Crosshair reaches out, touching his shoulder, a gesture that they’ve done hundreds of times in the past to show their support for one another. “We’ll figure something out,” he answers, “But we’ll need to bide our time for the right moment.”
“Yeah,” Hunter agrees, his eyes flickering to Crosshair’s lips when he realizes how close they are, and how easy it would be to reach out and pull him in to a kiss. Desire stirs inside of him, and it’s insane how even what’s supposed to be a normal, comforting touch is making his nerves buzz with anticipation.
The eyes on him are intent, and Hunter wonders what Crosshair sees on his face, what emotions or needs he’s giving away. He shifts, his knee brushing into Hunter’s thigh, and it’s unclear if it’s intentional or accidental – knowing Crosshair, Hunter is more inclined to think the latter – but it’s enough to make his shaky grip on his self-control unravel. He pounces, drawing his brother closer as he leans in, pressing a desperate kiss to his mouth, and it takes Crosshair a moment to catch up before he kisses him back just as hungrily.
“This changes things,” Hunter whispers, breaking away to get air and mouthing along Crosshair’s jaw and neck, nuzzling just above the collar around his neck, his hands trailing across skin, tracing muscles, feeling and enjoying the way Crosshair shivers at his touch. “When we get out –” and it is a when, “– we can’t – we can’t go back to… the way it was before.” I need you, he wants to say but doesn’t, because it’s too raw and vulnerable. He needs to feel this closeness with Crosshair, this intimacy, and he would break if he lost it.
The guilt winds in his chest, sharp and cutting, because this is wrong, but he needs it, and it feels so right. It shouldn’t feel this right, but it does, and he can’t let it go. He can’t. He needs Crosshair too much to let him go.
Crosshair roughly cards a hand through Hunter’s hair, tugging it lightly, pulling his head back and nipping at his neck. “So glad you figured that out,” he deadpans, his other hand hungrily stroking over Hunter’s back.
Hunter growls, claiming Crosshair’s mouth in another desperate kiss, until they have to stop to breathe. Crosshair hooks his fingers into the edge of the collar again, tugging on it, eyes heated. “Mine,” he purrs, a predatory gleam in his gaze as he slides his hand up, putting pressure on Hunter’s throat, just enough to be felt, but not enough to obstruct his breathing, and Hunter has no idea why that sends a jolt of desire and pleasure through his veins.
“Yours,” he agrees breathily, tilting his head back to give Crosshair access to his neck. It’s what Crosshair needs to hear, he thinks, after the way Hunter had shut him down in the past, and when it’s true, Hunter has no problem with admitting to it. He’s Crosshair’s, and he’s happy with that.
Crosshair kisses him again, with a gentle tenderness that leaves him gasping for breath, his thoughts entirely scrambled, and when Crosshair sits back, his expression is satisfied.
Force help them both.
There is no going back from this, and Hunter doesn’t want to go back from this, even if he knows the guilt will haunt him. He needs this too much, needs Crosshair and the closeness and everything that will come with it. Reaching out, he pulls his brother closer to him, pressing their foreheads together and just breathing for a moment before lowering his head and tentatively licking his shoulder, inhaling the scent that’s all Crosshair. It sends a shiver of anticipation and desire down his spine, but he’s still too worn out from what they did to actually do anything else. Not quite yet.
(And he knows they’ll undoubtedly be given ample opportunity by the queen in the future, too.)
So instead, Hunter just slides closer to Crosshair, curling around his body, no matter how awkward their position on the floor makes it. They can’t escape yet, but they will, and until they get a better opportunity – he has no doubt that guards will try and stop them if they attempt an escape now, and besides, they can’t realistically make it far while they’re naked, without a single weapon – Hunter is content to explore Crosshair’s body and wait.
At least they’re together.
And from the way Crosshair presses closer, Hunter can tell he feels the same way.